


give them unquiet dreams

by blindmadness



Series: Crossover and AU Adventures [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Canon Dialogue, Canon Rewrite, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10023923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/pseuds/blindmadness
Summary: All her life, Blue's been warned about the faeries. (A Wicked Lovely AU.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure, I did _not_ enjoy the Wicked Lovely books very much, but oh boy can I not resist inserting some faery myth into THIS of all series !!! This is a rough integration of the restaurant scene from _Raven Boys_ and the comic book store scene from _Wicked Lovely,_ with a good amount of dialogue lifted from the former and a smidgen from the latter. I have to admit to finding faery Gansey genuinely hilarious, especially given that it would not make him any better at appearing to be a normal human being.
> 
> If you aren't familiar with Wicked Lovely, the basic premise is that faeries are everywhere but most people can't see them, and the king of the summer court is looking for his queen among mortal girls. (It's obviously more complicated than that, but that's the basics as far as this fic is concerned.) If you are familiar, I would imagine Noah is hanging out in some faery capacity, too, and that Adam is a Seth-type figure. Or perhaps the Niall to Ronan's Irial. (Oh man, can someone please write that?)
> 
> Title comes from Yeats's "The Stolen Child," because I'm uncreative. :")

All her life, Blue’s been warned about the faeries.

No one else can see them unless they wish to be seen, her mother always tells her, a rare expression of seriousness on her face. They rarely interact with humans directly, but love teasing them, mocking them, Calla always says, her voice fierce but her hands gentle as she adds steel bangles to Blue’s wrists. Blue must be very, very careful to stay out of their affairs, Persephone always advises, her eyes wide and her expression unusually focused, emphasizing the vital nature of the information.

The truth is, though, that Blue’s never been very interested in the faeries. They’re all strange-looking in their beauty, but not in a way that attracts Blue, who’s always worked hard at being rather strange-looking herself. They’re unkind and pushy and seem to take pleasure in their otherness, their position of power over humans, and while Blue’s no fan of most humans herself, she sees no reason to cause them pain or distress or even confusion if they’re doing nothing to deserve it. Plus, being raised as she was, with her family being who they are, faeries have always been the least of the strange and magical things in her life, especially since they mostly leave her alone.

So the last thing she expects when someone touches her shoulder at Nino’s—something no one is ever allowed to do—and she whirls around to hiss fiercely _“can. I. help. you,”_ is a faery, wearing a human glamour, and it’s all she can do to keep the dismay and terror off of her face.

He smiles at her. He looks handsome in a rich-boy way, neatly pressed and evenly tanned and wearing a stupidly expensive-looking watch. Of all the glamours he could have donned, Blue thinks wryly, he couldn’t have chosen an easier one for blending in to Henrietta—or one which would appeal to her less. Despite the draw that faeries always exude, even to someone who knows to be wary of them, she doesn’t think she’ll have any trouble resisting this one.

“I hope so,” he says, brightly. Too brightly to be real, to be human; there’s a subtle glow to him, a luminescence to his face. A summer faery, Blue thinks. She’s noticed that they tend to be less deliberately cruel, but more unruly, less controlled. “My name is Gansey.” He pauses, clearly waiting for Blue to introduce herself in return; she just stares at him in stony silence, so he presses on. “I’m meeting some friends for coffee. I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

“No,” Blue says, blunt, taking a step away from him. She catches sight of another faery standing in the doorway—tall, pale, with a shaved head and a sulky expression, a too-large beady-eyed raven perched on his shoulder, both of them watching Blue and Gansey closely. He’s meant to be invisible to humans, so Blue studiously ignores him.

Gansey takes half a step closer, undeterred by her refusal; she knew it wouldn’t be enough for a faery, especially one strong enough to exude summer like a perfume and wander so casually inside a human building. “Some other time, then?”

“No.” Blue keeps her voice level and firm, despite the furious pounding of her heart. She’s not afraid of him, not really (or at least, she’s trying very hard not to be), but she doesn’t want to cause a scene here. She doesn’t love this job, but it pays better than any of her others, and she needs every penny she can get.

“Immune to your charms already,” the tall, sulky faery drawls from the doorway, fingers stroking the raven’s chest. Blue doesn’t look directly at him; she’s not supposed to be able to tell he’s there.

Gansey shoots a quick, sideways glare at him, subtle enough to be almost unnoticeable, before turning a wide, wide smile onto Blue. She can feel it, the tendrils of warmth coiling from his skin, the glints of green in his eyes like a promise of eternal summer. He’s strong, and she feels her hands clenching into fists. She doesn’t want to be even a little bit tempted by anything he has to offer.

“Any chance you would let me call you sometime? Text, e-mail?”

He carries himself like a boy who’s never been refused anything in his life. While Blue knows that this is only half-true, he still reminds her so much of the entitled assholes, the raven boys, who populate her town, who think that they own everyone and everything in sight. Who think the world should just lie down to their every whim, while others have to work themselves stupid for so much as a fraction of a chance at something more.

It makes her blood boil, and it counters any desire she has to lean into him, to say yes to anything he asks (and it’s stronger than she’d ever admit, even to herself). “Do you see this apron? It means I’m _working._ As in, for a living. So if you don’t mind—”

“I’ll take care of it,” Gansey interrupts. “I’ll talk to your manager. How much do you make in an hour?”

For a moment Blue is so flabbergasted, she can’t even think of how to form the right words for this situation. “What?” she finally manages, the word emerging much more faintly than she’d like.

“I’ll take care of it,” he repeats patiently, “and then you can come with me without worrying or losing money. Does that sound fair?”

_Fair?_ He even has the entitlement of rich boys down perfectly—except, of course, that he’s operating on another level entirely, where he likely expects not just people but other faeries to do whatever he says. He must _really_ be strong.

Blue’s too furious to care, though. No one, _no one_ can treat her this way. “I am,” she grits out from between her teeth, nails digging into her palms, “not a _prostitute.”_

And, for the first time, it seems like Gansey’s aware of how much he’s stumbled, his eyes widening in alarm as he actually takes half a step back. “Oh,” he says, clearly fumbling to try to salvage the situation, “no, I—that was not what I meant. That is not what I said.”

“That _is_ what you said,” Blue insists, scowling darkly. Next to him, the faery with the shaved head is doubled over laughing; she does her best to ignore him. “You think you can just _pay_ me to spend time with you? Most hu—most girls will spend time with a guy _for free_ when they’re interested!” She barrels past her near- slip, hoping her clear fury will prevent him from noticing.

Gansey looks at her, gaze clear and intent, as if seeing her as a person for the first time. It sends shudders of apprehension and discomfort down Blue’s spine, but she keeps her chin level and her own gaze firm. She’s not going to let any kind of faery get the better of her.

“And you aren’t,” he finally says, voice soft, full of something that almost sounds like regret. It’s the most human he’s sounded so far.

“No,” Blue says, firm, unyielding. Faeries twist your words if you leave even a little room for uncertainty or doubt; how often has she heard her mother or Calla or Persephone say that? She doesn’t intend to give this one any leeway.

Gansey pauses a little longer, then inclines his head in acquiescence. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Blue’s so shocked she nearly stumbles in place. “I don’t know what else to say.”

She’s not, _not_ going to let this weaken her. So he’s not behaving in the way she’d expect from a faery—he’s still one of them, and whatever it is he wants from her, it’s not going to be anything she’s willing to give. She knows that much for sure.

So she considers it for a moment, and she tells him, “How about ‘bye?’”

She hears the faery with the shaved head snort, but she keeps her eyes on Gansey, whose expression is serious. “Bye, then,” he says, and he turns away—actually turns away from her, of his own free will.

She doesn’t pause to question her good luck. She just turns and heads back into the kitchen as quickly as she can, not looking back.

 

Ronan’s grin, when Gansey finally turns back to him, is huge and delighted and mocking. He doesn’t say anything, just mimes the slow arc of a plane crash with his hand.

Gansey ignores it in favor of huffing out a long, exasperated sigh and turning to leave the restaurant. “Well,” he says as they walk to the car, unnecessarily, “that didn’t go so well.”

Ronan snorts, still looking far too pleased. “‘I am not a prostitute,’” he says in a high-pitched, rather poor impression of the girl inside. The exceedingly short girl with unbelievably messy hair, fierce control over her emotions, and an unexpected resistance to the charm that usually gets Gansey whatever he may want from a human. Of course it would fail the one time it really matters. “Are you sure she’s the one? Seems like your life would be way easier if—”

“She’s the one,” Gansey interrupts, voice sure with a confidence he’s not entirely certain he feels. “I know she is.”

Ronan shrugs, the gesture eloquent in its disbelief. “Your funeral,” he says, and retrieves bits of something Gansey can’t (and isn’t sure he wants to) identify from his pocket to feed to Chainsaw. 

Flippantly as Ronan meant them, the words chill Gansey a little as he looks over his shoulder, back at the restaurant and the girl they’d left behind. _Blue,_ her nametag had read. An entirely inappropriate name for a girl destined to be the Summer Queen. But she’s the one; Gansey knows it. He can feel it in his bones, as he feels every year of the thousands in which he’s existed.

And if he happens to be wrong…

“Not just mine,” he murmurs under his breath, shaking off his glamour as they reach the car.


End file.
